


Lights, Camera... Eggnog

by theonsfavouritetoy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Jon Snow's perfect bum is the true star, Jon is a terrible drunk, Kissing, M/M, Nude calendar, and a whole lot of naked awesomeness, crackfic, cracky kissing fic, everyone's thirsty, gross overuse of italics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 20:03:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21287411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/pseuds/theonsfavouritetoy
Summary: “Nude photos,” hollers Tyrion, appearing vastly delighted with his students’ horrified expressions. “Don’t look at me like that, boys. It’s for charity.”
Relationships: Jon Snow/a few bottles of eggnog, Theon Greyjoy/Jon Snow
Comments: 22
Kudos: 79





	Lights, Camera... Eggnog

**Author's Note:**

> It's officially November, which means it's time for a little pre-christmassy fun. But while the theme may be christmassy, the fic very much is not, so please don't hesitate!

The crisp December air smells nicely of wood fires and snow, and Jon takes a deep breath as he makes his way over the slippery cobblestones in the main building’s yard. Today is the last day of this semester, Jon’s favourite day of the whole year. 

Today, Tyrion, his economics professor, will reveal this year’s charity project. They do one every year around this time, and Jon’s enjoyed them all thoroughly. Last year it had been building houses for the homeless, the year before it had been staffing a soup kitchen for a day, which had been great fun, and the year before that had been the best: a day at an animal shelter. 

Jon has wondered for weeks now what it’ll be this year, he and Sam had puzzled over it all the time, but Tyrion had only laughed at all their endeavours to get it out of him. Whatever it is, he seems to be excited, and Jon can’t help but feel excited too. 

He’s happy, simple as that. He’s studying at a renowned university, alongside his cousin and best friend, he shares a room with his other best friend, he’s finally over getting dumped by his girlfriend this spring, it’s a beautiful day and he’s going to do some good deed. Life is wonderful. 

***

“Nude photos,” hollers Tyrion, appearing vastly delighted with his students’ horrified expressions. “Don’t look at me like that, boys. It’s for charity.”

Jon can hardly think straight. Nude? As in, no clothes? On a… what?

“It’s a calendar,” Tyrion deigns to explain. “The funds go to the local orphanage this year.”

“Kids,” Gendry says, mouth hanging open, “you want us to get naked for _ kids_?”

“Yes,” Tyrion concludes cheerfully, “that’s exactly what I want. Of course they’re not going to see the calendar, you moron. But all we make from the sales will be donated to their cause.”

“Sorry, Sir,” Pod pipes up, hardly able to contain a grin. “Are you going to drop your pants too?”

The silence following his words is heavy, and slowly Tyrion turns his icy glare on Pod. “What do you think, Podrick?” A long pause ensues in which Pod sinks deeper and deeper into his seat, face flushed nearly purple. Tyrion grins. “I’m going to be Mr. December, of course.”

That causes the students to chuckle, and Jon sees Robb’s hand coming up, always such a good boy. “We’re only seven, sir. Don’t we need five more for a whole year’s worth of naked awesomeness?”

“Good to see you using your brain, Stark,” Tyrion commends. “Indeed, we are still missing participants. I will ask my brother, I’m sure he will be delighted to help out.” 

“I could ask my boyfriend,” Renly offers.

“What about that hot new exchange student?” Gendry asks. 

Robb opens his mouth, glancing over his shoulder at Jon. _ Sorry_, he mouths, and before Jon can stop him, he’s already saying it. “I’ll ask Theon.” 

“Very good, thank you, boys. One to go.” Tyrion looks at them expectantly, but no one comes forward with anything. Tyrion sighs. “Well, it seems we have to–”

“I’LL DO IT!”

The door bursts open to reveal a very shaggy head full of brilliant red hair, followed by the rest of the university’s groundskeeper. They all stare at him, startled, but Tyrion slowly nods. 

“Good. As long as you turn up with a decent haircut - and _ please _ do something about your beard, Tormund - I don’t see why not. Good work, gentlemen.” He hops down from his chair, smugly grinning around. “Anyone fancy a particular month?”

***

“You had to, hadn’t you?” Jon knows he sounds whiny and accusatory, but that can’t be helped right now. 

“Yes, I had to. Jon.” Robb easily keeps up with Jon, despite his brisk, angry pace. “Can you imagine the earful I get if he finds out that there’s been a chance to publicly drop his pants and we didn’t tell him? Well, if you want to be yelled at the whole Christmas break, be my guest. I intend to spend it in peace.” 

“He wouldn’t have to know,” Jon grumbles, knowing too well it’s a lost battle. “But you can count me out here. In no way am I going to show my naked butt in front of Greyjoy.” 

“I know you’re going to kill me, Jon,” wheezes Sam, half-running beside them, and Jon slows down with a sigh. “That’s not what I meant,” Sam says, still looking grateful for the more moderate tempo. “I meant what I’m going to say next.” He swallows, eyeing Jon from the side anxiously. “Whatever did the man do to make you dislike him so much?”

Jon stops altogether. Both Robb and Sam are looking at him with expectant faces, though you’d think Robb would know. Robb has to know. How can Robb not know? Jon searches for a way to explain, a way that doesn’t sound completely ridiculous, and is just about to give up and say he’s got no idea, when he finds himself squished to a hard, warm body. 

“I know why, Sammie,” Gendry cheers, planting a smacking kiss on Jon’s head. “Jon-boy here’s still got his knickers in a twist over that silly game we all played back in highschool. Sam, I tell you, it was _ hilarious._” He squishes Jon harder. Jon wishes he would just die. 

“Robb, you should know,” Gendry continues, ignoring Jon’s feeble struggles. His arms are like bloody steel rods. “Or were you already snoring against Rhae’s bosom by the time Theon declared Jon to be the worst kisser ever and not even fit for the dog?”

_ I’ll kill them both_, Jon thinks, helplessly stemming both arms against Gendry’s unyielding side. Gen for his blabbermouth and Theon for saying that… some seven years ago. Yes, it’s childish. Yes, Jon’s supposed to be an adult. But it still stings, and he sometimes wonders if that was the reason for Ygritte to break up with him. She said it was not, but. Who knows. 

***

“Come in, come in!” Tyrion holds the door wide open. “You’re late, but not the last to arrive. Tormund is at the stylist’s - said something about a lawnmower - and Robb’s friend is still missing.”

That’s good news, Jon thinks as he staggers inside behind Sam. Maybe he’s run his car into a tree. Or he has forgotten the whole thing. With a deep breath he looks around the studio. It’s very warm, a good thing, Jon supposes. Wouldn’t be much fun to make pics of goosebumpy, shivering guys. 

There’s a large paravent and a rack with a dozen robes hanging from it. Tyrion is already wearing his, a very small one, and Jon wonders who on earth makes Hugh-Hefner-style bathrobes in kids sizes. 

The other guys are standing around a large, high table, all with little glasses in their hands, sipping a creamy, whitish liquid - it looks like they’re drinking jizz, and Jon mentally slaps himself for the stupid thought. 

“Eggnog?” Renly’s boyfriend Loras asks, holding out two glasses of jizz for Jon and Sam. Jon accepts his while Sam shakes his head, shooting Jon a gaze that seems to say, really Jon? Jon shrugs, tossing his eggnog in one go. Anything that helps him relax in this situation is good. 

Loras laughs, refilling Jon’s glass from one of the half dozen bottles on the table. “Go, Jon,” he grins, causing Renly to elbow him jealously. Jon smiles back, the eggnog warms his stomach and loosens the tight knots of anxiety in his shoulders. Maybe he can actually survive this–

“Drop your panties, ladies, Theon is here! What did I miss? Hey, are you guys drinking jizz?”

Well, maybe not.

***

“Because _ I _ am the boss, Podrick, and _ I _ say we are all going to get undressed _ now_. You have the robe, boy, what are you so worried about? No one wants to see your schlong dangling about, I assure you.” Tyrion flails his arms in an apt demonstration. “It wouldn’t be fair to have one of you on display while all the others are fully clothed.” 

Pod sighs, but shuffles behind the paravent obediently. The photographer, a very tall woman with short blonde hair, is sitting on some kind of miniature stage filled with chairs and plants and other props, listening to their quarreling with a look of utter boredom. 

Jon has been one of the first to get changed, using the hallooing and chattering upon Theon’s entry to be ready before anyone had a chance to look. Beside him Sam is quivering like a leaf in his robe, repeating some kind of mantra over and over again. 

“I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t do this....”

“Yes, you can,” Jon huffs. “If I’m doing it, you’re doing it too.”

“But, Jon…” Sam gives him a heartbreaking glance. “I don’t look good without any clothes on.” 

“This isn’t a Mister-Universe-Contest,” Jon sighs. They’ve discussed this topic at least a million times since Tyrion had assaulted them with his plans. “It’s going to be artsy, classy, very tasteful, and it’ll make a wonderful Christmas present for Gilly. We’ve been through that, Sam. You have nothing to worry about.”

It’s true. They are a pretty diverse bunch. Of course there are the good looking ones. Robb is a greek statue come to life, Loras has a very nice, firm body, and Gen’s buff as hell. But Renly for example hasn’t even a hint of muscle on him, he’s slender but very soft. Pod is more square than toned, looking ridiculously healthy, like a dray horse. 

And there’s Mr. Lannister, Tyrion’s older brother. He’s in his forties, and while still in good shape, definitely not twenty anymore. At the moment he’s over at the table, waiting for the shoot to start. 

“January,” the photographer calls, and Mr. Lannister downs his eggnog and walks over to where she’s waiting for him. 

“My name is Jaime,” he says with a rather charming smile. The photographer rolls her eyes. 

“Brienne. Robe off.”

Jon averts his eyes, only looking back when Mr. Lannister has been arranged into a not-so-flashing pose, lounging in a large armchair with his legs up and crossed at the ankles. All the naughty bits are covered thus, and on Brienne’s instruction Mr. Lannister drives a hand through his hair and flashes her a smile. Click.

“Beautiful.” 

“Thanks, ma’am.” Mr. Lannister steps down from the stage and Brienne looks over the rest of them. Jon’s stomach churns. He’s November, there’s a lot of time. He snatches a bottle from the table and takes a long, nice swig. Warmth pools again in his stomach and he smiles. Way better. 

“Jon…” 

With a snort Jon turns away from Sam and his worried gaze. Spoilsport. Jon knows what he’s doing, thank you very much. No need for Sam to mother him like this. He’s twenty fucking years old, and it’s _ eggnog _ for fuck’s sake. Surely it can’t be as bad as… that time.

“February?” Brienne calls and they all look around for Tormund. 

“Probably still getting trimmed,” Tyrion mutters. “There’s enough material on that head to occupy three hairstylists for a week.” He nods at Brienne. “On with the show then, until he shows his hopefully civilized face. Who’s March?” 

Dead silence settles over the room, until a very faint, very high squeaking sound becomes audible. Shaking so hard he seems to blur, Sam slowly raises a wobbly hand. 

No one says a word as he slowly stumbles over to Brienne and climbs up onto the stage where he stands like a bedraggled pug, clutching his robe as tightly as he can. This time Jon doesn’t look away when the robe vanishes, instead he looks straight into Sam’s pale face and nods encouragingly. 

It takes a little while until Brienne is satisfied with the pose she’s arranged Sam in. He’s kneeling on one knee, the other leg obscuring his privates and parts of his stomach, one arm relaxedly propped up on his knee, as if he’s just bent down to pick something up. Click. In seconds it’s over, Sam’s robe is back on, and when he hops off the stage he gets a well deserved round of applause. 

“April,” Brienne calls and suddenly the white-shark-tune flashes through Jon’s head. More eggnog, that’s the thing. Just one more sip – curious, the bottle is empty. Well, there’s still enough of them, Jon thinks, and grabs another. After a greedy draw he blinks, the room wavers for a moment but stays where it is. All under control. 

All under control on the stage as well. Jon peers over. Theon is chatting with Brienne, apparently enlightening her about his own ideas for his shot. Brienne’s arms are crossed before her chest, she doesn’t look amused, and Jon snorts, definitely amused. Whatever Theon wants to do, she’s not having it. 

“You’re not muscular enough for this. But thanks for the idea, we’ll take it for September.” 

Jon is torn between laughing at Theon’s face and turning to look at Gendry, who happens to be September, and who looks confused but incredibly smug. When he notices Jon’s gaze he sidles over. 

“There you have it, Jon-boy. Karma right there for you. I bet if he hadn’t said those mean things about you aaaall those years ago he’d be a real hunk today.” 

Jon snorts. That stupid kiss. It can’t have been so bad, right? He takes a big gulp of eggnog, feeling fuzzy and confident. “Gen,” he says, surprised when his tongue stumbles over the word. “Gen, you did it too. Was it really that horrible?” 

And to his shock Gendry looks decidedly uncomfortable upon this. “See, Jon…” he starts, and Jon flinches. A bad sign, when he’s not calling him Jon-boy. “You were inexperienced, it’s only natural that you wouldn’t be an expert right away. You weren’t bad, Theon was totally out of line there. But maybe a little… lifeless?” 

“Like a dying carp, to be exact,” calls the dreadful voice of doom from the stage, apparently having overheard what Gendry had said. “Mouth opening and closing, as if he was gasping for air. Tongue like a cold, dead fish. Horrible, I tell you.”

“Really, Greyjoy,” Gendry tuts. “You don’t have to be so mean about it. It was his first time!”

“You should be very quiet on that topic, Waters,” Theon smirks. “If I remember correctly, kissing you was like getting slobbered by a huge, overly enthusiastic dog. My whole face was raw after that. I’d rather kiss the carp again than you.”

Kiss who again? Jon suckles on his bottle while trying to follow the conversation. Gendry said he was bad too. Ygritte said he was quite good. Does that mean he got more skilled over time? Or are they lying? Who is lying? Resolutely, Jon sets the bottle down, almost missing the table. He’s got to try that out. 

And on that thought he snatches Gendry’s robe and pulls him in, accompanied by cheers and catcalls and an “oh dear god” from Brienne. It sounds resigned, but Jon can’t help her now, he has to concentrate on this. And after a split second Gendry seems to have overcome his surprise and returns the kiss, quite enthusiastically, but no slobbering Jon would notice. It’s actually really good. 

“Ha,” he says smugly when he releases Gendry from his grasp. “You’re wrong, Greyj-joy. He’s not a dog and I’m not a carp. Am I a carp?” he asks Gendry imperiously. Gendry shakes his head, apparently stunned into silence. “Ha,” Jon repeats triumphantly, and goes back to his best friend. The bottle of eggnog. Which is, again, curiously empty. 

“Er… April? Can we get back to this now please?” 

Jon looks up at Brienne’s annoyed comment. Theon is standing up there, staring at him with a strange, calculating expression Jon doesn’t like at all. To have something to hold on to, he angles for another bottle and clutches it to his chest. 

“Jon, I think you’ve had enough.” 

Jon sways a little as he turns to his cousin. “Robb,” he says, delighted to see him coming towards him, “have a glass! It’s only jizz, nothing can happen!” 

The corners of Robb’s mouth are twitching, and Jon wants to ask what he finds so amusing, but then his attention is captured by the proceedings on the stage, where Theon has finally shucked his robe and is getting into position. 

Jon blinks, trying to see what it is that Brienne has rolled over to Theon. Looks like a stability ball or something. What’s Theon supposed to do with it? Maybe bouncing on top, that’d look funny. Jon giggles, trying to take a sip of his bottle, spilling it on his chest instead. 

“Anyone wanna lick this off?” he asks nobody in particular, but several heads turn to him and Theon falls off his ball. Must have ears like a bat to hear Jon all over to where he’s now picking himself up from the floor and arranges his lithe, smooth body over the ball again. 

Jon squints. He’s kind of kneeling before it and bending backwards, his hair nearly brushing the floorboards - damn, he’s flexible - with his throat and chest on display and - click. That was it? Disappointed, Jon drinks from his bottle. That looked nice. 

“May,” Brienne calls, and Podrick shuffles on stage. And loses his robe. Jon stares. Everyone stares. 

“Full frontal, Brienne,” Tyrion says after a long silence. “Take one of those empty bottles.” 

“Absolut eggnog hunk,” Theon comments as he joins Robb and Jon at the table, snatching the bottle out of Jon’s hand. “Gimme that, you look like you’ve had more than enough.” 

“‘S never enough,” Jon hiccups, and tries to steal it back. Which would be a lot easier if Theon would stay still, but he’s swaying funnily, back and forth and Jon can’t seem to catch him despite trying with both hands now. 

Theon laughs and gives the bottle back. “Know what, I changed my mind. Knock yourself out.” He shrugs and grins at Robb. “Don’t look at me like that, Stark. Carpy here is old enough to know what he’s doing.”

“Ssactly what ‘m sayin,” Jon mumbles, tilting his head back and swallowing mouthfuls of eggnog. It tastes so good, so creamy, nothing like jizz at all. Nothing at all like he imagines jizz to taste. How does jizz taste? 

“I wouldn’t know,” Robb says, both hands coming up defiantly. Jon frowns. Know what? Did he say the jizz thing out loud? He gazes upon Robb questioningly. Robb sighs. “You’d have to ask Theon, or Gendry. Or Renly, or Loras. Speaking of whom…”

Jon turns his head, holding onto the table as he does so. He feels as if he’s on a ship or something. The floor isn’t very nice, all the time undulating against his feet. On the stage there isn’t Pod anymore, Loras is there and apparently watering a pot plant or something. The watering can obscures the view of his dick, and Jon tilts his head sideways. Still no good view. He shrugs and takes a sip of eggnog. Goooood. 

The door falling shut has them all look over. There’s two guys coming in, looking identical. Jon blinks. One guy. With red hair bundled into a messy top knot on his head and a carefully trimmed, very fashionable looking beard. He looks familiar and nice. Jon smiles at him. He smiles back, and then Jon hears a gasp from somewhere.

“I can’t believe it!”

“This is incredible!”

“Who’d have thought!”

Strange, Jon thinks, they have all gone now and are surrounding that redhead like a flock of incredibly noisy vultures, chattering away at him. He seems to enjoy the attention, grinning a lot, then says, “Aye, ach. Now shut up ye wee bastards and lemme have mah shoot!”

Okay, maybe it’s time to stop with the eggnog after all. This is Tormund! Who’s now strutting on stage as if he owns the place, planting himself in front of Brienne with a leer. “Wha’ a bonnie lass,” he says. Brienne rolls her eyes. She seems to do that a lot. 

Jon cannot concentrate on Tormund’s shoot at all. His head is swimming, his legs are wobbly, and he feels as if he could go to sleep any second now. On the other hand, he’s feeling slightly restless, itchy somehow… he wants to do something. Something that feels _ good. _

“Aaalrighty,” he announces to the room and tries to fix everyone with a commanding glare. If only they would stay still! “Time for November!”

And with that he unfastens his belt, balling his robe up and pressing it into Robb’s arms, and stumbles up to Brienne, just occupied with that sexy exchange guy from fuck-knows-where. 

He’s bent over a pool table, his long braid hanging over one shoulder, queue in hand, but at Jon’s arrival he straightens, a look of surprise on his dark face. 

“Nice balls,” Jon slurs as he walks past, which prompts the guy to stare at the two billiard balls he’s holding, and he emits a deep, throaty chuckle. 

“I think…” Jon sways on his feet, turning slowly to face the room. Everyone is staring at him, several mouths hanging open. “Ssss...ssso... tired,” Jon informs them, and collapses on a two-seater with incredibly soft cushions. 

***

“...always thought I was one hundred percent straight, but then I didn’t know such a thing exists.”

“You do know that’s your cousin you’re talking about, right?”

“I don’t blame him, would you look at that? Michelangelo would grab his chisel in pure ecstasy.”

“He’d rather grab the _ other _ chisel, believe me. Fuck, they’re perfect, aren’t they? Like two scoops of vanilla ice cream…”

“You look like you want to take a lick!”

“Who wouldn’t? I mean, they’re so round and… are those dimples?”

Jon frowns into the pillow his face is squished against. He’s having the weirdest dreams.

“I just want to _ squeeze _ them!”

Robb? Jon shifts a little, wondering why he’s feeling so dizzy. 

“He’s stirring. Make your photo, quick, before he wakes up!”

“There’s still this little thing called _ consent_.”

“He can consent later. We’ll never get him to look so beautifully relaxed when he’s awake.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, I’ve had enough of this. Step aside.”

The next moment Jon is wide awake, he jolts upwards in shock as a splash of cold water hits his face, leaving him dripping as he stares around wildly, trying to focus on the swaying room. 

“Wha–” he starts, quickly closing his mouth when a wave of nausea hits him. A woman’s face comes into view, scowling at him. 

“Lay down again. Wipe that hair out of your eyes, you look like a drowned rat.”

“You poured water over me!” Jon exclaims accusingly, moaning lowly when the words make his stomach lurch again. 

“Yes, well, we need to get on with this, don’t we? I have other things to do than dealing with a bunch of drunk idiots.” Brienne the photographer huffs. “Now stick out that glorious butt of yours, wipe your hair out of your eyes and give me a pouty look. Shouldn’t be too hard for you.”

Jon bristles slightly, but the only way he can start making sense of what’s happening again is to get her off his case. So he does as he’s told, glancing at her sulkily from beneath his lashes. 

“_Thank _ you. Now kindly fuck off so I can do December and wrap this up.”

Mumbling grumpily under his breath, Jon sits up – and looks into eleven faces staring up at him. Blushing furiously, he tries to cover his privates as he shuffles down awkwardly, gladly accepting a robe from hot foreign guy and wrapping himself in it. 

“Are you okay?” Sam asks when Jon leans against the wall next to him. “You’re pale.”

Jon nods. His legs are feeling like jelly and his stomach hasn’t settled, but at least the whole ordeal is over now. He sighs, brushing his still wet hair back. He’d murder for a coffee. 

“Coffee?” asks a voice from the left and Jon peers over at Tyrion’s brother, offering him a steaming styropor cup. He’s smiling at Jon in a way that seems… No, surely not. Jon accepts the cup, nodding his thanks. Why would Jaime Lannister be flirting with him? “There’s a little cafe not far from here,” Mr. Lannister continues, giving Jon an appraising once-over. “I’m free after this shoot…”

Jon just stares, flabbergasted, unable to answer this… this… proposal? 

“He’s about twenty years too young for you, Jaime,” comes Tyrion’s dry voice from the stage. “And you’ll have to get in line if I am interpreting the thirsty stares in here correctly. No,” he turns to Brienne, “not the mistletoe. It’d look as if I have leafy pubic hair. Don’t you have any holly?”

Jon stops listening. Maybe the eggnog has caused a fuse to bust in his head, but Tyrion’s right. There’s a lot of staring going on, and as Jon lets his gaze sweep over the guys he receives a lascivious wink from Tormund, Loras is making _ call me _ signs behind Renly’s back and Robb resembles a sunburnt tomato when their eyes meet. Jon looks further, to Gendry and Pod, wearing twin-like dreamy expressions, to the exchange student giving him a dark grin – and to Theon, who’s not grinning. He’s smiling rather charmingly.

“Er,” Jon says, having no idea how to deal with his sudden fame. Or the fact that he’s still in nothing but robes while everyone else is back in their clothes. “Can I go home now?

“Someone go and get me a holly twig,” Brienne shouts from the stage. 

Theon shakes his head. “In a minute, Snow. I have to test something first.”

“What do you mean, a holly _ twig?” _ Tyrion bellows. “Better go and get a fucking _ branch!_”

Test…what? Oh god. His stomach giving another jolt, Jon remembers something. A discussion. About his kissing skills. Or rather, the lack thereof. The thought is enough to return Jon’s anger at the topic, and maybe it’s the eggnog still clogging his brain, but why the fuck not? 

With two steps he’s right in front of Theon, snatching his jumper and pulling him down against his mouth. Theon flinches, he clearly hasn’t expected Jon to follow through, but after a stunned moment he relaxes, lips opening, letting Jon in. And Jon gives his all. He kisses him as if they were on death row, as if an asteroid was racing towards earth to wipe them all out. He kisses him with all his might, nibbling, licking, pressing his whole body against Theon’s. He’ll show him he’s good alright, he’ll make sure Theon never wants to kiss anyone else ever again–

“It’s not _ that _ big!” 

“Yes it fucking IS!”

The quarreling from the stage breaks the moment and Jon moves away, drawing a deep breath. “And?” he asks, fighting the urge to close his eyes as he awaits the verdict. _ Please let him say it was good! _

“You know,” Theon says after a long moment. “I’m not quite sure yet. We’ll have to test this again, more thoroughly.” He grins. “Go and get dressed, Snow. I think the best testing range would be my place.”

Well, Jon thinks as he turns to the paravent, his every move still followed by everyone. He’ll better go with him. For testing purposes. And maybe Brienne will let them take that bouncy ball–

“Fuck me, it _ is _that big!” she shouts right into Jon’s musings. 

Well, they don’t need the bouncy ball, really.

**Author's Note:**

> If you had fun reading this, I'd love if you tell me so in the comments! They always motivate me to no end and I have two real Christmas things in planning - and for those I need all the motivation I can get :p


End file.
